Moonlit Musings
by Certifiably Insane
Summary: She'd been in love with him for some time now. Her mind couldn't recollect when she'd started falling or how long it had took her to hit the ground with a resounding thud of sadness. He'd left, he always left. LIT.


Disclaimer: GG and all its wonderful albeit sometimes incredibly idiotic characters belong to Amy Sherman-Palladino and the WB and whoever elsethe owns them. Not one of those persons is me though. Because I am poor and ghetto ridden, sad but true. Please dont sue. (I'm aware I rhymed.)

A/N: Wow, its been so long since I've wrote something of substance. I feel foriegn to the writer-ness one within me. Huh. Anyhoo, I fell into a crazy writing fit before the holidays and here is the only thing I found that wasn't incoherent and full of mindless twoddle.

A bizarrely sizable amount of thanks to Nicolle who aided me in my time of imaginative thought loss-age and came up with the snazzy, perfect title. Also, she beta-ed her litte hiney off! Thanks to THE thread of all threads. winks You know who you are, for being fantabulous.

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Moonlit Musings.

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She liked the night. Everything was quiet, filtered somehow. The noise and regular uproar of the day was taken away as the darkness seeped through, hushing the world into an incessant silence that eased her turbulent mind.

She'd dreamt of him again.

The same dream. Repeating, taunting. Lulling her into a false sense of security where the only thing that existed was him and his ability to make all of her pain, her anguish, disappear with one kiss, one embrace, one smile. The same dream that made her feel loved, wanted, craved.

Then, as soon as the feeling would come, it would go. He would disappear into nothing-ness, an empty, hollow reminder of what once took its place. Leaving her to wake alone, cold, longing.

She hated it. Hated that just a simple thought, a dream, the casually bringing up of his name could make her feel so weak and vulnerable. She'd find herself lost in the past, drowning violently in the memories of him. Of them. Of a time when her life made sense and her teenage days were filled with the intoxicating encounters the two shared.

Nothing compared to the way he kissed her.

The way he poured so much emotion, so much pent up passion and unwavering lust into one kiss blew her mind. It wasn't clumsy or stiff nor was it shy or too forward. It was right. Exact. Perfect.

He was gentle but still passionate. He retained a sense of hidden shyness but still managed to be confident in his touches. The way he'd casually swipe a hand across the waistband of her Levi's but still know when to stop and how far he was allowed to go. She loved that, how he'd know what she was comfortable with and have no quarrel in stopping.

She thought of his kisses and touches more than she should. She knew that.

She'd try to push the deep, resentful nagging away. Push it to the back of her mind and keep it there, hoping it would never resurface again. In the end, it always did. It always found her and engulfed her, taking her back to one of those moments.

One of those kisses.

She longed for it, wanted it with every fiber of her being. But she knew she couldn't have it. She couldn't have him, not anymore. He was different now, he was successful, he'd wrote a book. A book. She didn't deserve him anymore, he was above her. Superior. He had his life together, she didn't.

No more could she take comfort in the fact that he was out there somewhere, probably screwing his life up even more because she knew that he wasn't. That when she used to try and battle away her feelings, her want, her love, by thinking of how much of a failure he was, how much he had disappointed everyone who had ever loved him, she was wrong.

She couldn't help loving him more for it. He'd overcome it all, managed to put his mistakes, his past, behind him and start anew. She was happy for him, glad of his achievements. But a part of her held a grudge, was resentful that he had done it by himself when it seemed that lately, she couldn't do anything without someone coming to her aid and rescuing her.

She'd been in love with him for some time now. Her mind couldn't recollect when she'd started falling or how long it had took her to hit the ground with a resounding thud of sadness. He'd left, he always left.

He'd come back just when she thought that she could finally put him behind her and move on. That maybe the dreams would end and she'd stop silently wishing it was him she was kissing, him she was sharing her nights with instead of her current boyfriend. But all it took was one more reappearance and her whole world would come crashing down again, her thoughts bombarded with him, her body yearning for his touch, her mind in a painful struggle with her heart to determine how she would go about the situation.

Her mind always won. Her heart's cries would always be silenced, muffled by some unknown force and logical thought would always come through in the end. A fact that, sometimes, she resented.

They had never conquered timing. Things in their relationship would never come about at the right moment, angry words were passed too fast and realizations were made too late.

She'd always run. Why did she always have to run? The first time they'd kissed, she'd ran, away from him, from Dean, from everything. She was young then, confused, caught up in her hormones, unsure of her decisions.

Sometimes she would wonder what would have happened if she'd approached the situation differently, if she had been more mature, more sure of herself. Maybe things between them would have been different, better somehow.

As she grew older, as her mind grew more adjusted to the harsh realities of life and the pain and grief that came with it, she realized that basing things on assumptions and what if's was pointless. That in the end, your still left with an un-answered question and no form of a logical, genuine conclusion to go with it.

Even with this knowledge, she couldn't help herself when, once every so often, she would wonder what would have happened if they had been given more time. More moments to be shared, to understand each other, to open up and learn.

She'd never know though, would she? The mystery of all that was Jess Mariano would still remain un-touched, un-conquered, un-breeched. He was never really hers, not fully. A part of him always belonged somewhere else, an unknown part of a jigsaw puzzle. She hoped though, someday, she'd master some sort of understanding to this, accumulate some Buddha-like state where none of this would bother her and she would be okay with it.

Not now though. No, for now, she had to make do with being content living on memories and trying to decipher hidden truths of his character through recalling things he had said to her and reading his notes in the margins of her books. She grasped around for Howl, the book that had started it all.

She found it silly how much comfort she could find in a book. In pages, words, paper. They were all solid, there, proof of him. Proof that he had been there, that he had stolen her away from somebody else and made her fall deeply, madly, insanely in love with him. A boy, a man who she knew so little about.

She sighed, staring out at the moon. It was full tonight, beautiful, complete. She pondered there a while, trying to think up a time when she had been like that. Whole. Never had she felt like that when she was with Jess. Ever since that night, not only had he stolen her book, he'd stolen a piece of her. He carried it with him, unaware that he even possessed it. At first, she'd fought to retrieve it but had gradually come to the conclusion that she would never get it back.

It was his now.

And it always would be.

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A/N: Love? Hate? Wannt to throw large rocks at my unsuspecting head? Pull up a chair, share a little! Press that little button right points there. C'mon, you know you want to...


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